


Barely Breathing

by escribo



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Unfinished wip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escribo/pseuds/escribo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Suits/Project Runway Crossover AU (because I truly couldn't resist).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blank Canvas

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I will not be able to finish this story. I hope you enjoy what is here and can imagine an ending if you choose to read it.

In the beginning, the first challenge had felt like a walk in the park. Seven yards of plain muslin, a budget of twenty dollars, and three weeks to create whatever best represented their point of view as a designer--at home without anyone else watching. Harvey had gone coutour, hand dying the fabric with onion skins, bits of rust, and rose petals before working it into his own textile. The result had surprised him though he didn't show it as his gown came down the runway, merely smirking as if a win in his direction was a foregone conclusion.

Jessica Pearson--editor-in-chief of _Haute_ magazine and the only voice Harvey even cared about--was, if not gushing, at least complimentary, more to his gown than anything else that had come down the runway, asking him questions on his technique and congratulating him on the risk he took. 

_If Harvey's look is haute couture, then what we have next is haute hippy. Tell us about your look, Mike._

Harvey leaned forward to look down the line to where the kid--Mike--stood grinning like he'd already won. He was the only other designer to manipulate his fabric to make it look different--better--than what it was. Harvey wasn't surprised that it had come down to the two of them but he had wanted to dominate, and looking back to his own gown, all he could see were the places he felt he over-designed in contrast to Mike's easy daytime look with its cool arashi shibori skirt and the top left natural with macrame detailing in the back. 

_In anybody else's hands, this could have looked like a craft project, and yet you make it look very editorial._

Harvey agreed. Though he'd never say it out loud, it was an amazing look and Harvey was already reordering who he thought his competition was. He was still considering it when Heidi gave them their surprise, and honestly they should have all seen it coming.

 _We want you to create a second look inspired by the first. But not_ your _first._

The news came at the end of a very long day, and Harvey found himself suddenly unconcerned about winning--though he knew that would be temporary--but longing for something he never thought he would: his nine-to-five job in the mail room at a law firm that would be (he confirmed with a surreptitious glance at his wrist) ending right about now. He'd be on his way home to his tiny walk-up in Alphabet City, the closest he could afford to mid-town, where he could sit quietly to sketch or sew with a glass of wine and some take away.

Not that he actually wanted to leave the show or give up this opportunity. It's just...

He turned to look at the designer next to him, mentally putting air quotes around the word _designer_ , and eyed his model. Tom Keller had made what Harvey imagined probably seemed like a really great idea if he'd been high. It was essentially a potato sack, managing to make a size four model look ill shaped. There was no design to it, no color, no interest--absolutely nothing to inspire.

Harvey rolled his eyes and huffed, straightening up as the judges and half the production crew laughed at him. He immediately shook it off, schooling his features. He wanted to enjoy this, learn what he could, and finally make a name for himself. He called up the image of his apartment again, with its kitchen that was essentially a hot plate and a sink, and his shower where he had to crouch down to wash beneath a spray of tepid water. This was his chance and he would do what he came for. He would win. 

_We'll see you all on the runway where someone will win and someone will go home. Bye!_


	2. New York State of Mind

For a long time, Mike stared at the ceiling in the bedroom at the Atlas Hotel he shared with four other designers, unable to sleep, mostly because Trevor, in the bed on his right, wouldn't shut up. 

"Anyway, I told her you were gay."

"What?" Mike propped himself up on an elbow and looked across to Trevor's bed. He'd only been half listening, too busy going over what had happened that day in his head but that certainly got his attention.

"That chick, Jenny. She's hot, right?" Trevor whispered back. "She was totally into you but I told her you're gay so I think she's into me now."

"Bi, Trevor."

"Same difference."

"No, it's not, and besides, no fraternizing. It's in the rules."

"Which you memorized, of course. You can't tell me they wouldn't love a bit of fraternizing. It makes good tv."

 _They_ being the producers, of course. Mike knew they'd both got on the show at the same time because of their friendship. He could almost see the the producer's eyes light up at the thought of childhood friends competing against one another and then they were both on.

The thing was, Mike didn't want to compete against Trevor, even if Trevor thought it was a great idea. He had a lot of bad ideas he thought were great and Mike had (mostly) learned by the third grade not to act on most of them. This-- _Project Runway_ \--had been one of his better plans, and Mike had been more than willing to go along with it if only for the cash prize at the end.

"I need to play this straight, Trev. I can use the money to help Gram."

"These things are always rigged, Mike. We're not winning."

"I came in second tonight."

"Yeah, but that was a crappy challenge. Dresses out of muslin? Any of us could have won but we didn't. It's going to be that douche bag straight down the line"

"Harvey?"

"Yeah. I swear he's a ringer. Nobody's that good." Trevor propped himself up on his elbow to look at Mike through the gloom, his face strangely earnest. Mike had seen it before, usually just as Trevor would claim he was just looking out for Mike's best interests. The thing was, Mike always believed him. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up."

Mike was quiet after that and, after another twenty minutes, Trevor's soliloquy faded off to snores. 

Mike knew both of his designs had been good--solid. His grandmother would be proud and he couldn't wait for her to see them. He could have won, no matter what Trevor said--he _could_ win though the person who did win tonight--Harvey--was good, like crazy good. He was a craftsman and an artist, and his designs had been beautiful and daring when everyone else's--including Mike's--had been safe. They were the kind of clothes that Mike wanted to make, had been dreaming about since he was kid. Closing his eyes, Mike dreamed about them now, too--the lines of Harvey's first dress, the bold, rich colors, how the model had practically floated as she'd come down the runway, and then the second one--a potato sack dress but exquisite where Tom's had been dowdy...

 

_Tim will meet you back in the workroom to tell you more about your challenge. Good luck!_

 

Mike thought being followed around by cameras was weird. It wasn't so bad in the workroom or on the runway because then it seemed natural but here in Brooklyn _where he lived_. It was weird, and too much. It made him nervous, though he tried desperately not to show it. 

Trevor, on the other hand, loved it--of course he did--and chatted with everyone about everything, his arm casually slung around Mike's shoulders or Jenny's waist as they toured Brooklyn taking pictures of anything that inspired them, which was the challenge. One hundred dollars and one day to make an outfit inspired by New York. The three of them had been driven to Brooklyn, where so far for Trevor, the most inspiring sight was apparently Jenny's smiles as she blushed and shook her head at him, tugged at Mike's arm, and laughed at them both.

She had a really pretty smile.

The producers had pulled them apart after a while, wanting the individual shots. Mike was last and wandered through the streets of Williamsburg, trying not to put too much of himself onto the camera. He had heard Trevor's interviews, filled with boasts and exaggerations of the things they did (and didn't do) in high school, and he felt the familiar urge to be loyal war with his embarrassment, which was high. It felt traitorous to wish Trevor hadn't been chosen this round with him or to wish they wouldn't always be put together in challenges, so he pushed that down firmly. Trevor was the reason he was on the show to begin with and Mike felt he had to be grateful for that. This could be his--their--chance.

They were near the waterfront when Mike spotted the warehouse and raised his camera to capture three quick shots. He stared for a long time at the boarded up windows and graffiti covered walls, remembering how it had looked in better days before the factory had been shut down for good and the jobs shipped overseas. Beyond it, he could make out the bridge going into the city and the high rises obscured by the fog. He shrugged deeper into his jacket, the camera hurried into a pocket just as the rain started to come down. Everyone began scrambling for cover except the cameraman who kept his focus tight on Mike.   

"My Gram worked here for 45 years," he finally said, and then shrugged, only continuing when the producer urged him on a bit. "The factory closed down less than a year after she retired, and she said she knew things would fall apart without her. That's how I feel sometimes, that I'd fall apart without her. I want to make something that honors her."

 

_Alright, designers, you have fifteen minutes to sketch and then we're off to Mood!_

 

"You can't be serious about that, dude."

Mike didn't move away from where Trevor was pressed tight against his shoulder so that he could look at Mike's sketchbook. This was encouraged, criticism being an integral part of the process, they'd said. Right. The cameras were there because Trevor was there, and Mike looked up, smiled shyly when Trevor nudged him again, and laughed softly, his hand coming up to rub at his neck because he knew what was coming.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Besides everything?"

He'd already known what Trevor would think of it--everything was ugly and boring if it wasn't bright and shiny, which was why Mike never showed Trevor his designs if he could help it. He could play along, though. "Why not?"

"It's a fucking pencil skirt in, what is that? Wool gabardine and silk blouse."

"Probably not gabardine. I'm making a jacket, too, I think."

"It looks old."

"Pencil skirts are classic, not _old_ , and the collar on the shirt is going to be what makes it modern. Maybe a print in the blouse."

"Nobody in Brooklyn would wear that."

"I'd wear it," Jenny said, leaning into to see Mike's sketchpad better. 

"Where?" Trevor leaned in closer, his arm going around Jenny's waist.

"To work."

"Work clothes. I told you it was boring, Mike."

"Hey!" Jenny batted at Trevor's chest, "You have the make the jacket, Mike. So that I can take it off."

"Now _that_ is a good design element."

"That's what-- The jacket's going to be in leather," Mike said more to himself as he leaned over his sketch again. He could almost ignore the way Jenny and Trevor were flirting with each other, the way the camera kept cutting back to him, as he thickened the lines of his design, sketched in hair and a pair of heels. When he looked up, the camera was firmly on Jenny as she explained her design and just over her shoulder, he caught Harvey watching the three of them. His mouth was twisted in a complicated way that made Mike think Harvey was probably judging him, labeling his design as "junior" even though he couldn't possibly have seen the sketch yet. Mike wondered where Harvey had been taken to find his inspiration and what he had come up with.

Those thoughts were cut off completely as Trevor cuffed him over the head and pulled him into a head-locked as he explained that he never sketched, because that's what Mike would do when they opened their own line together.

"Seriously though, Mike," Trevor whispered to him when they were in the van on the way to Mood. "You've got to do something else. Something like-- I don't know. _Something._ I'm not ready for you to go home yet." 

 

_Let's start the show!_

 

Later, when Mike was lying awake listening to Trevor snore, Mike replayed the runway show, or more specifically, the judging, over in his head. Jessica had been right. Mike's design hadn't been innovative in the least and, in the end, made him looked confused about what his inspiration had been. It'd been safe, enough to get him by. It told nothing about his aesthetic as a designer but looked exactly like what it had been, what a collaboration between him and Trevor would always be: short, tight, and splashed with color, which he had at least been able to say was inspired by the graffiti in his picture so he didn't look like a complete idiot. Just mostly. 

He knew the outfit hadn't said anything about his vision. The skirt had gone to mid-thigh, the blouse exposed too much cleavage, and the jacket had lost its modern edge because he'd changed the collar at the last possible minute when Tim had told him to _make it work_. Trevor had teased him all night about the judges comments, imitating each one in turn and laughing into the camera-- _and seriously how much footage could they possibly need?_

Trevor hadn't fared much better because his pencil skirt hadn't fit well and the jacket _had been cheap_ but luckily for them both, the judges had thought that Joy's clothes looked as if they'd been made for dolls and Jimmy had used lime green neoprene to make a dress that his model had to be cut out of. Mike still couldn't believe he'd let Trevor steal his design, like he always did, and said nothing about it because he'd been the idiot to change it in the first place. _We're through another round_ , Trevor had whispered just before they'd climbed into their beds. He'd held out his fist for Mike to bump--and Mike _had_ \--before he'd gathered Mike up in his arms and said _we'll do better next time_. 

Mike ground his fists into his eyes and sighed loudly before he tossed on his bed again, trying and failing to get comfortable. He knew _exactly_ what his Gram would say when she saw the show: _stop being a schmuck, Michael, and show them what real talent looks like_.

Turning onto his side and punching his pillow in frustration one last time, Mike thought exactly of that: real talent. Harvey had won again with a dress that had essentially redesigned the power suit, managing to be perfectly tailored for Wall Street while being at once feminine yet sexy, which was exactly what Mike had wanted to do but in a different way. His way. Next time, he promised himself, he would do exactly that.


	3. The Red Carpet

_So get sketching, designers!_

The thing about fame, Jenny had discovered in the days since leaving her parents' house in Rockaway, was that she didn't want it. She _thought_ she did but now that she's had a taste of it, she really didn't like it. She liked designing prom dresses and sewing Halloween costumes for her sisters' kids, and she missed design being easy. Fun. She was self-taught, like Mike and Trevor, and wanted to be proud of that--of seeing dresses she had made being shown in a boutique near her home where all her friends shopped. Designing against Dana, Harvey, and some of the others who had gone to Parson's or other design schools, or who had worked in the industry--who were _trained_ in textile design, made her feel frustrated and inferior.

Mostly frustrated.

It was twenty minutes into their allotted thirty minutes of sketch time before they went shopping for fabrics and Jenny was worried. Looking down at her sketchpad, she studied the modified A-Line of the red carpet dress she was designing for some D-list celebrity host that she had never heard of before (but had faked excitement for along with everyone else when the challenge had been revealed). She hated it. She thought it looked clumsy and dull. She could practically hear Jessica's sneer that it was _a perfectly nice dress_ , which of course meant boring. Nobody wanted a boring dress, and boring would definitely get her sent home.

"You look sad."

"Oh my god," she cried out, startled by the whisper in her ear. "Where are the cameras?"

"Relax." Mike leaned against her table and began fiddling with her pin cushion, lining the pins up in a grid pattern on the tiny quilted hedgehog her mom had made for her in the fifth grade. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Trevor's trying to make Harold cry. They'll be over there for ages."

"Are you finished with your design?"

"No. I don't know what I'm doing so I'm taking a break."

"I saw your sketch earlier. It was great."

"Yeah. Trevor thinks it's crap."

"Why do you listen to him?"

"He's my best friend."

"I know but—"

"No, I know he's loud and obnoxious and—"

"A truly awful person."

"So you like him, too."

Jenny grinned and shrugged her shoulders in a helpless little gesture. "I really, really do. What's up with that?"

"Weird, right? It's been a great mystery all my life."

"It really is." Jenny considered Mike for a moment. She thought he was cute and talented, quite possibly smarter than anyone she'd ever met before. He gave off this vibe like he'd be a complete goofball but could talk to anyone about anything. She'd noticed him right off during the first challenge and likely wouldn't have looked at Trevor at all if Mike hadn't been friends with him. She figured there must be something to him if Mike liked him so much. In fact, she had figured they were _together_ , at least until Trevor had spent an afternoon convincing her otherwise.

Glancing across the workroom, she watched as Trevor leaned in to Harold, talking in quiet, earnest tones as Harold's lip quivered. She still didn't know why she liked him so much. He really was kind of an ass, which she supposed was kind of her type if her last two boyfriends were anything to go by. She looked at Mike again and found him frowning, his sketch in his hand but his eyes on the scene playing out with Harold and Trevor.

"Have you ever… With Trevor." She trailed her question off, looking at Mike from beneath her lashes. She saw his blush as he shook his head once, barely there, careful not to attract anyone's attention.

"He is very much straight, though he'll give me a cuddle if we're both high."

"Yeah? So, what? Unrequited love?"

"Maybe when I was sixteen and still figuring things out but now? Nothing like that. We're friends, and he's totally into you."

"Do you think?"

"Yeah."

"You're a great wingman."

"Thanks. I get a lot of practice." Mike quickly raised his head as those words seemed to play back. "I didn't mean--"

"It's okay, Mike. This," Jenny said as she gestured around the work room, "is a whole weird thing. Flirting with Trevor makes it bearable in some strange way. I know it's not real."

"Yeah, that's what Trevor says. Smoke and mirrors."

"You don't think so?"

"I don't know. I'm still me, you know? Trevor thinks we're just part of the entertainment. He's just biding his time until he gets tossed off."

"And you're not?"

"The prize is real, right? It's a lot of money and a big opportunity, one I'm not likely to see again. It's a second chance in a lot of ways and I don't want to just throw it away for my fifteen minutes of fame. I might not get another chance to show at Bryant Park."

"You're a really good designer, Mike. I think you'd find a way."

"Yeah, well, in the meantime..."

"Real life."

"Exactly," he said, his eyes back on his design. "I'm going to work for it so I don't feel like a fraud."

Jenny nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She still wasn't convinced that she was good enough to be here but it was stupid to throw it away. She scrawled a line through her first sketch, turned to a clean page, and started over. 

 

_Alright, designers. We're off to Mood!_

 

"So, who would you hook up with?"

Mike, caught by Jenny waiting his turn at the cutting table, had surprise written across his features, his eyes bright. "Here?"

"Yeah, here. Where else? Real life, Mike." Jenny smiled and looked back down at her sketch. She laid down the two bolts of fabric she was carrying, trying to decide if she could get away with a polyester charmeuse instead of silk to save money for trim. "I'm not going to try to play matchmaker just.. Who do you think is hot?"

"Besides you."

"Well, duh," Jenny laughed out, knocking her shoulder against his. 

"Well, we are an exceptionally attractive set of people," he hesitated, looking around the room. Kyle and Donna were arguing over a bolt of purple jacquard and Lucille was eying the button wall. Towards the front at the registers stood Dana and Harvey, Harvey clutching a bundle of black lace while Dana paid for her blood red satin.

"Okay, you can only choose one."

"Where's that rule written?"

"One person on a deserted island and 

"Harvey."

"That was quick."

"He's got a whole vibe, you know? Like Bruce Wayne. If I was being stranded on a deserted island then I want someone who could build a plane out of palm trees and fly us home. He's got a great body, too. Probably works out. He could fight off the polar bears."

"Polar bears?"

" _Lost_? There was... Never mind. He's hot."

"And terrifying."

"Completely."

"Have you seen the sketch for his gown?"

"It's amazing. I caught a peek of it in the van on the way over."

"He's going to win."

"That's what Trevor thinks."

"But you don't?"

Mike was quiet for a long time while a guy cut six yards of silver chiffon for him. Mike's mouth was set in a determined line as he fingered the material that she had laid out. "You should use the silk," he said instead of answering. "It'll hang better."

 

_Alright designers, the judges and I are going to discuss your designs and then we'll call you back._

 

Harvey won the challenge, and no one was surprised. His dress was stunning, sexy and structured, and Jenny had known as she stood next to him during the judging that he would win but she hadn't expected second place. She might have cried a little on stage, and then laughed in the green room when Trevor hugged her.

What had been surprising was how boring Mike's dress was in comparison to everything else. _We've seen this a million times,_ Jessica had said and the pretty starlet who definitely wouldn't be caught dead in it on any red carpet had laughed and said she thought maybe she'd worn something similar to her junior prom. _Not even prom, maybe homecoming_. Mike's cheeks had burned as he tried to defend his sweetheart neckline before just giving up and admitting that it hadn't been his original design, and that he had had to work with borrowed fabric when his original (delicate, beautiful, drafted out of silver chiffon) design hadn't worked (because by the end of day one it had bore more than a striking resemblance to Trevor's dress). Mike hadn't had enough fabric or time to make something else, at least not something innovative or new (or floor length) with the scraps of fabric donated to him by a few designers who had taken pity on him. 

Trevor was safe because even if his dress was poorly sewn--and it had been without Mike there to show him how to make French hems--the design was at least _innovative_ in Jessica's opinion.

Jenny sat in the green room, her hands shaking as she watched Harvey celebrating his win across the room with Dana. She felt cold and she wanted to go home to her pink bedroom with its chenille bedspread and the stuffed dog her dad had won for her at some barely remembered street carnival. She wanted to go back to college and sew in spare time with her mom and grandma in the back room. She didn't look up when Trevor sat beside her.

"You're safe, Jen," Trevor said, leaning back into the seat with his arm around her shoulders. "And you're second place. You should be happy about that."

"Mike might go home."

"He'll be fine."

"You don't know that."

"Are you kidding? Between him and Jimmy? There's no way Mike's going home. Look."

The door to the green room opened and Mike came in first followed by Jimmy, who definitely looked gutted. 

"It's me, guys," Jimmy said. "I'm going home. I worked really hard to get here and they liked the neoprene so much, I thought I'd try it again but it just didn't work for me. I guess they hated my 'repetitive' dress more than Mike's boring one."

Mike flinched when Jimmy said the word _boring_ but didn't say anything as Jimmy continued to speak into the camera with a speech that sounded as though he'd been practicing it for a week. Mike just stood pale and silent, his eyes on Trevor until Tim had come and gone and taken all the producers with him. Jenny hated the look on his face, which was full of hurt and resignation, and wondered how many times this had played out between them.

"Hey Mikey," Trevor finally said as he got to his feet once nearly all the other designers had begun filing out. "Time to go back to the room. It'll work out better next time."

"You stole my design and I was nearly sent home." Mike spoke quietly, meaning for only Trevor to hear him. But Jenny, still on the couch with her arms wrapped around her middle, heard him, too, and saw by the way that Harvey stopped on his way out, that he had heard as well.

"It's not stealing, Mike." Trevor clapped his hand onto Mike's shoulder and squeezed. "We're partners."

"Not here, we're not."

"Don't be stupid, Mikey. You're never going to win this on your own. You know that, right?"

"Not if I keep listening to you."

"The other people here, they have real talent."

"I have talent."

"What? Because your eighty year old grandma told you so? She's your _grandma_ , Mike."

Mike didn't respond but color flooded back into his cheeks and Trevor laughed, hard and bitter, as he pushed past Mike and started walking for the door again. "Listen. We're safe. Why are we even fighting about this if the cameras aren't here? Let's go back to the room and get drunk."

Mike's mouth twisted, his hands curling into fists at his side as Trevor left the room. Jenny was angry, too, because she'd known that Trevor had stolen Mike's design, had laughed about it when asked why he was buying the same fabric as Mike. She wanted to go to him but she was too aware that they weren't alone and so sat frozen on the couch, looking down at her clenched hands. "He really is an asshole," she whispered.

"I don't want to be safe," Mike said. "I want to win."

"Then fucking play the game." Jenny looked up, past Mike, shocked that it was Harvey who had spoken, who had his hand clenched on Mike's shoulder. She watched as Mike straightened his back, his chin rising as he met Harvey's eyes. "You've got the talent, kid. Now grow the fucking balls to do something with it. Blow them away the next time."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
